different kettle of corn
by CampionSayn
Summary: February Prompts 2020: Day 4-Eat. Pain from a beating wasn't permanent. It wasn't like death.


The dust bloomed in his mouth and, against instinct and better judgement, he swallowed.

It was better than the alternative.

Thomas clenched his jaw, a vein pulsing painfully where Ratcliffe had struck out at him when he thought he'd just receive the usual disdain at his incompetence.

At least John would get what he'd wanted out of the evening.

Maybe the others would at least get something out of it as well.

Pain from a beating wasn't permanent. It wasn't like death.

Thomas would eat dust and eat it gladly rather than suffer the guilt perpetual of murder.

* * *

The native Chief and his entourage greeted the white men about as well as could be expected three days, a screaming match between Ratcliffe and John, and a visit from Pocahontas herself later.

Warriors in lines on all sides of the trail John lead the way up. The daughter of the Chief awaiting the settlers party at her father's side, looking hopeful as Smith didn't seem to have a mark on him…

As much as Kocoum was pained to admit his observation even to himself, the yellow hair's friend did not appear so fortunate.

All the way at the end of the line of paranoid but still hardy looking white men, Kocoum observed the young man that had broken up the fight of the previous encounter by using that strange weapon that shot fire and lightning so near and deadly that, had he better aim, the red haired would have blasted Kocoum clean through, rather than the sapling blown to pieces back in the glen.

He was sporting marks that he hadn't gotten in the confrontation, the pale skin at his left eye dark as rotted corn shucks, with many others besides. And a limp that he was trying and failing to hide from the two obviously older men that walked in front of him that kept looking back. Like they were making sure he wouldn't disappear if given the chance.

* * *

"_That's _ the one that kept you from tearing into the one Pocahontas is courting?"

Namontack looked about as disconcerted at the sight of the settler as Kocoum felt, eyeing the young man from where the two of them sat near the fire as Powhatan had agreed to speak with the leader of the white men over a shared meal, rather than in the closed quarters of the Chief's meeting house.

The skinny thing hadn't said a word the entire time the settlers were in the village, completely mum compared to his comrades that were loud and brazen like their leader and the second eldest of the lot, or rather assured of themselves like that John Smith. He kept his head down, eyes averted unless Smith was speaking to him, and kept tensing up when the one in black-Ratcliffe-got within five paces or gave him the smallest, most dismissive of glances.

"He was," Kocoum confirmed, accepting a heated trout from a passing basket, as well as some corn and deer meat, but not taking his eyes off of the other, "Though, he had a weapon at the time."

"No weapon now. You could take him easily if you had to."

Kocoum considered this statement of fact, chewing on a cut of meat as he observed, with minor curiosity, one of the village children having built up the courage to approach the other.

He looked rather started, finding a child of not even seven suddenly at his side, but didn't tense up like he did near the other white men, seeming to actually relax, shoulders loose and head no longer pointed near the ground.

A good thing, too, since the child took the chance to pluck at the red-red-red hair like he was petting a baby deer, giggling like a true innocent when the settler actually smiled back, allowing something not even the other villagers would have tolerated for very long.

The child laughed delightedly when he let go and all the other...Thomas, Kocoum recalled John Smith calling him in the clearing...did was shake out the tangles with little more than a head tilt from side to side.

Encouraged by getting off without even a comment, let alone a scolding, the boy called over some of the other children that had been hovering behind one of the homes nearby; almost a whole herd of them bounding over to repeat the previous action of their friend. Tiny, grubby hands pawing through what was very short haired compared to the tribe, but quite different, which would always attract the attention of those so young.

A few of the youngest ones, barely four years, climbed Thomas, perching on his shoulders to get a better look at seeing if it was real hair, rather than just the result of blood sticking to black hair, or something like the war paint the warriors were printed with, or even dye that made up most of the decorations of the village.

It did not look very comfortable, but Thomas seemed only to become even more open with the situation, allowing them to do as they wished and still smiling-laughing, too when another of the younger ones decided to use his lap as a seat and started eating some of the meal Thomas hadn't even truly started on.

"But at what cost," Kocoum finally answered, the barest and most subtle of grins forming at the edge of his lips as his friend considered, both of them still watching, eating, enjoying this small, private show.


End file.
